


don't you dare look back (just keep your eyes on me)

by lushatrocity



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Love, break ups, girl talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lushatrocity/pseuds/lushatrocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain truths universally accepted:</p><p>* Once a cheater, always a cheater.<br/>* Never say "I love you" after only two weeks.<br/>* Men never want to settle down.</p><p>Clarke Griffin, Octavia Blake and Raven Reyes have been burned by these rules -- but they still dare to hope they'll one day discover the most precious thing of all: an exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't you dare look back (just keep your eyes on me)

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me unexpectedly in the car and I just had to rush home to put it down on paper. I hope that you enjoy it!
> 
> And, since this was written in a rush of inspiration and I am terrible at editing my own work, I ask your indulgence for any mistakes.
> 
> Title is from Walk on the Moon.

Reaching a hand out to grope blindly for the alarm, Clarke sighs in relief when the horrible beeping is silenced. Staring at the ceiling, she contemplates the necessity of getting out of bed -- no one really  _needs_  to work, or eat, or pay bills, right? -- before resigning herself to the task at hand and pushing back the covers. 

 

Stretching with a low groan, she pats at her hair to assess the damage and doesn't pay any attention to the direction of her shuffling feet until she bumps into the corner of the large frame leaning against the wall. 

 

"Shit," she curses while hopping on one foot, shooting a nasty glare at the painting. She hates the damn thing -- well, she actually  _loves_  it, but she hates that its sitting on the floor, instead hanging prettily on the wall like it's  _supposed_  to be --

 

Her mental rant is interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening and she turns her head to see Bellamy burst into the room, midway through pulling a shirt over his head. When his head appears, he follows the line of her gaze and winces. 

 

"I know,  _I know --_  I'll hang it up tonight, I promise," he assures her while darting about the room in search of socks, shoes, and wallet. She's sluggish in the mornings, as he well knows, so he dances around her with ease before smacking a kiss to her cheek. "I gotta run, the liquor guy's on his way. I'll try to be home in time for dinner, okay?"

 

She merely grunts in response, raising a hand to scratch at the side of her neck.

 

"Have a good day, princess!" He shouts over his shoulder before vanishing from the room. 

 

She only manages to shuffle to the bathroom door before he reappears, spinning her around to plant a kiss on her mouth (it's sloppy because she's still in Zombie-mode, but he doesn't seem to mind). "Almost forgot, happy anniversary." With a quick grin and waggle of his brows, he releases her and darts out the room. The muffled sound of a door closing announces that he has actually exited the building this time, but she still waits for another few seconds before slipping into the bathroom. 

 

Wrinkling her nose at her reflection in the mirror, she goes about the task of retrieving her toothbrush and slathering on the appropriate amount of paste onto it. The number seven floats through her mind as she brushes:  _seven minutes in heaven, lucky number seven, seven deadly sins.._  


Seven years of being just a girlfriend.

Suddenly unable to look herself in the eye, she ducks her head and rushes through the rest of her morning routine.

 

\-------------------------------

 

"What's the word, Griffin?"

 

Raven asks while taking up residence at the entrance to her cube. They've worked together at the magazine for three years now and have been fairly inseparable long before that, thanks in equal parts to their ability to see past each other's rough edges (Clarke's mildly OCD when it comes to the lay-outs and Raven doesn't see the value in having a filter) and a mutual distaste for the other would-be models that flutter about the place.

 

"It's Tuesday," Clarke responds with an idle shrug.

 

"Fuck, that bad, huh?" Raven teases while shifting away from the doorway in order to perch on the corner of her desk.

 

Settling back in her chair with a sigh, Clarke raises a hand to rub at her face. "No, it's fine --  _really_ ," she adds when she notices the arch of Raven's brow. "It's just ..." Trailing off, she waves her hand in a vague gesture that is supposed to help fill in the gaps somehow.

 

"Fine," Raven finishes with an understanding nod of her head. There's a sympathetic glint to her gaze that has Clarke turning away, unwilling and unable to acknowledge the emotions twisting her stomach into knots. 

 

She's saved, thankfully, by the startling sight of Octavia slinking into the office.

 

 Octavia's presence in itself isn't startling -- Clarke helped her land a position in their department six months ago -- but Octavia's natural tendency is to announce her presence with a shouted greeting and blind them with the color choices of her wardrobe. So the fact that Octavia shuffles in wearing a simple black dress,  _flats_ , and barely manages to mumble a greeting before disappearing into her cube across from Clarke's is, to put it frankly, shocking.

 

"What the fuck?" True to form, Raven doesn't bother hiding her shock.

 

"Raven," Clarke warns -- but it's too late, Raven has already pushed away from Clarke's desk in order to pounce. Forcing a glance up at the ceiling, Clarke follows with a sigh.

 

"Who are you and what the hell did you do with Octavia?"

 

Clarke smacks Raven's arm sharply. "Raven!" She scolds, narrowing her eyes until the woman relents with a huff, folding her arms and turning her head to watch the hallway. Clarke waits another beat to be sure that Raven is actually going to remain silent before turning her gaze back to Octavia. "Honey, what's the matter?"

 

Up close, Octavia is even more of a wreck. Her long hair appears unwashed, falling limply about her face, and there are dark bruises underneath her eyes. 

 

"It's Lincoln," she chokes out after a moment, voice quavering with the weight of unshed tears.

 

"Did that fucker touch you? I will  _end_  him --" Snapping to attention like the live wire she is, Raven's hands clench into fists.

 

"No, no!" Quickly, Octavia waves frantically at Raven before slumping back in her chair. "He didn't do anything wrong," she whimpers, giving into the tears.

 

Exchanging glances, Clarke and Raven move as one to surround the girl and brush soothing touches along her hair.

 

"We went out to -- to dinner on Saturday -- and he .. he took me that really nice place on 12th -- you guys know how much I love that place, right?" Glancing between them, she waits for their murmurs of confirmation (because Octavia raves about the steak there at least twice a week) before continuing, "And he was so handsome, and he took me home ... and we had sex and it was  _good --"_  


  
_"_ Not seeing the problem her--ow!" Glaring at Clarke, Raven rubs at her arm.

 

"I was just so ... so ... so   _happy,_  that I just said it."

 

"Said what, honey?" Clarke asks gently.

 

"I love you," Octavia says, dissolving into tears once again. 

 

"Shit," Raven grimaces before gathering Octavia closer.

 

"I know,  _I know_  -- I'm such an idiot. It just slipped out ... and he didn't say anything. But it was still weird, and he hasn't called me and it's all my fault."

 

Raven rocked her gently, murmuring soothing noises, while slanting a glance towards Clarke.

 

"Hey, hey -- Octavia, come on. You never know, he might still call." Raven shots her an incredulous glare, but Clarke refuses to acknowledge it, keeping her attention focused on Octavia. "My friend, Maya, once told me about a girl who said it too soon and the guy waited a whole two weeks before calling her, and they're living happily ever after now."

 

"Really?" Octavia whispers, glancing between them.

 

But Raven refuses to fan the flames of hope, sighing softly. "That's an exception, Clarke."

 

"What?"

 

"That story. It's an exception -- an anomaly, something that's told to us to make us keep believing. But men aren't exceptions, Clarke, they're always the rule."

 

Clarke feels the knots in her gut tighten and she bites down on her bottom lip. "That's .. that's not true."

 

"Clarke.." 

 

"No, it's not true. Men change all the time -- they grow up, they learn -- men change  _all the time._ " Her pulse is fluttering, tiny sparks of something  _awful_  churning through her veins, and she can't help but notice that even Octavia is staring at her strangely now.

 

"Oh yeah? So a cheater can suddenly become faithful?" Raven questions, brow raising dangerously.

 

"I mean -- well..." Clarke fidgets with the hem of her blouse, and she suddenly finds it very difficult to look at either woman.  _Men are the rule_ echoes in her brain on repeat and she feels like she's sinking into the floor as the realization hits her. "So, the story you always hear about a man finally deciding to get married after being with a girl for a long time ... that's an exception. That's ... that's never the rule."

 

Raven just stares at her with sad eyes. 

 

It felt as if Raven had reached inside her chest and forcibly extinguished the last flame of hope that fluttered within the walls of her heart -- she basically had, Clarke realized, and a bitter sound leaked from her throat as she sank back against the wall.

 

"No, Clarke -- I mean, I'm sure he ..." Octavia tries, glancing between the pair with wide eyes. "He does love you," she finishes weakly.

 

A wave of nausea swarms her senses and Clarke barely manages to snag her purse off the wall before she flees.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Bellamy is hanging up the picture when she comes home, and somehow the sight of him, finally doing something she had been asking him to do for  _weeks_ , causes her to snap.

 

She must have made a noise because he turns his head, smiling sheepishly. "Told you I'd get around to it eventually." He chuckles softly, but his expression changes when he realizes she's still standing in the doorway. "Hey, princess, what's the matter?"

 

The nickname causes her flinch, the proverbial last straw, and she blurts out, "Bellamy are you  _ever_  going to marry me?"

 

He rocks back on his heels as if her words had struck him and his jaw clenches. "Clarke --"

 

"Don't you dare lie to me," she snaps, but the fact that her face immediately crumples removes any bite from the words, painting them instead of a hue of pleading, of one last attempt at hope.

 

It is that sound that causes Bellamy to jerk back again, and he swallows painfully while raking a hand through his hair and sinking down onto the bed. When he speaks, it is with the desperation of a man that knows his time is up but can't help but try to bargain for more anyways. "I  _love_ you."

 

"I know," she whispers, eyes burning with heartbreak.  _Just not enough_  her mind translating that which was left unsaid, as she retreats into the closet.

 

Bellamy can't bring himself to move from the bed, and his face turns to stone as he listens to the sound of bags unzipping and hangers rattling as they are relieved of their duties. 

 

He hears the gentle thud of her footsteps as she leaves, but he can't bring himself to look.

 

He doesn't move for a long, long time.

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

Raven doesn't say a word when she opens her door, merely ushers her in and assists her with removing her coat and shoes when it becomes clear that Clarke's hands are shaking too much to manage it. 

 

Guiding her into the living room, Clarke is surprised to see that the couch is already occupied by Octavia. She turns a disbelieving glance towards Raven, who merely shrugs.

 

"Misery loves company, I guess."

 

The girl looks incredibly small wrapped up in a large blanket, and her expression seems to say a million things at once when she notices Clarke. In the end, she merely shifts her arm to open a space underneath the blanket beside her. 

 

The small act of kindness causes the dam to break and Clarke wastes little time claiming the small space next to Octavia, large sobs wracking her body as she buries her face against the girl's shoulder.

 

"I'll make some tea," Raven announces before disappearing into the kitchen.

 

\----------------------------------------------

 

Though some part of Clarke thought she would die from the pain of it all -- she keeps breathing. 

 

But it's not to say that she keeps on living.

 

She  _exists,_ in the sense that she slinks off of Raven's couch each morning, goes to work, endures the usual weekly dinners at her parent's, and even manages to make it through the various happy hours and singles mixers that Raven forces her into it as the weeks drag on.

 

She doesn't smile the way she used to -- and her laughter sounds a little hollow to her ears, but she tries. She's  _trying._  


Octavia joins them every now and then, but they make sure never to venture anywhere near the topic of her brother or what kind of  _existence_  he's having.

 

That is, until a man offers to buy Clarke a drink and sneers, "Fuck you too, princess," when she refuses his offer. They share a brief chuckle, but the nickname still strikes a chord in each of them and Clarke has trouble meeting her eyes as she turns back to her. Her knuckles bled white as she grips the edge of the bar.

 

Octavia extends a hand to cover hers, squeezing gently. "He's miserable too, if it helps."

 

Clarke is silent and Octavia is just about to give up hope that Clarke is going to acknowledge her words when the woman whispers. "I don't know."

 

Octavia nods, giving her hand another squeeze before gesturing across the bar with her free hand. "Looks like Raven's found a live one."

 

Turning her head, she catches sight of Raven in the midst of an argument with a man near the darts board. She's obviously gotten him all flustered because he's all flailing hands and wild eyes, while Raven simply smiles.

 

"Poor thing -- he doesn't know what hit him, does he?" 

 

Clarke watches as Raven shyly nods towards the dart board when the man seems to loose steam. "Neither does she."

 

\---------------------------------------------------

 

 

 

Her phone wakes her up in the middle of the night and she finally locates it on the nightstand she realizes two things nearly simultaneously: it is 3:30 am and her mother is calling.

 

"Hello?" she slurs, wiping her free hand over her face.

 

"Clarke? It's your father -- there's been an accident."

 

Ice water streaks through her veins and she doesn't realize she is shrieking until Raven bursts into her room, wild-eyed and baseball bat poised to swing for the fences.

 

Another reason that Clarke loves Raven unconditionally is her ability to go from zero to sixty in two seconds flat, and she doesn't fail her this time. As soon as she gets a read on the situation, she channels her inner general, barking orders at Octavia to snag a cab (who was too tipsy to make it home and therefore crashed on the couch) and forcing Clarke into her shoes. She barks orders at the driver the whole way to the hospital, urging him to go faster, faster, faster -- 

 

A screech of tires announce their arrival and they all fling themselves out of the cab and into the hospital waiting area.

 

One look at her mother's expression is all it takes for Clarke to realize that they're too late.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

The funeral is on a Tuesday -- which just gives her another reason to hate the day with every fiber of her being.

 

 Everyone keeps saying that it was a nice service, but Clarke doesn't even know how one could even  _rate_  such a thing -- but Clarke is aware of her mother's stern presence beside her, so she swallows back her words and nods politely.

 

A crowd follows them home from the cemetery, but Clarke lost whatever meager amount of patience she had for her mother's friends hours ago and she retreats immediately to the safety of the second floor once they arrive. She intended to lie down, but her feet keep moving until she reaches the door at the end of the hall.

 

It's a habit that causes her to turn her head to make sure no one's watching before she ducks into her father's office -- though her mother probably doesn't care what she does now anyways, she thinks bitterly -- and twists the lock firmly behind her. She lingers there for a moment, letting her gaze travel over the furniture slowly, absorbing the way the room looks somewhat .. duller without her father around to brighten it up. 

 

Edging towards his desk, she studies the paperwork scattered about, tracing a few of the loops of his hastily scrawled notes with her fingertips.

 

"Oh daddy," she whispers when she catches sight of his coat draped over the edge, as if he had just tossed it down a few moments ago after one of his evening strolls. Wrapping herself up in it, she sinks down into his faded leather chair and lets his scent envelope her.

 

A few seconds later a telltale tear trails down her cheek -- but there is no one to watch, one to judge if the manner of grieving is  _appropriate_  or not -- so she doesn't fight it. 

 

She gives herself permission to  _break._  


_\-------------------------------------------------------_

It is approaching dusk when she finally emerges, and the house is silent save for the sound of someone rummaging around in the kitchen. Following the noise, she discovers Bellamy carefully condensing all of the leftover food into smaller containers and arranging the dishes by the sink.

 

Leaning against the door frame, she is momentarily overwhelmed by the sight of him, by the fact that his mere presence in her house fills her with an impossible amount of relief, and she feels her eyes sting once more. 

 

She must have made a noise because he lifts his head, face softening instantly at the sight of her and he shifts forward, before stilling as he remembers himself.

 

"Just, uh, thought I'd lend a hand," he says, gesturing to the mess around him while raking a hand through his hair.

 

It's the sight of that gesture, so achingly familiar, that spurs her into action. Relieving him of the plate in his hand, she jerks a chin towards the sink. "I'll wash and you dry?"

 

He smiles faintly, tension draining from his posture in an instant. "Yeah," he agrees after clearing his throat.

 

The work in harmony, movements guided by the natural grace that comes after being around a person for a very long time. She feels like she should be surprised by how easily it comes back to them, but she's all out of emotion for today and so she just accepts it.

 

It lingers as they make their way upstairs a few hours later and he tucks her into bed, smoothing a hand over her hair with reverent fingers. He catches himself soon after, drawing back with a soft cough -- only to be halted by her fingers circling his wrist.

 

"Stay?" She asks quietly. "Just .. just for a little while?"

 

A shadow falls over his face and she regrets her decision as the silence lingers. She releases his arm and his about to mumble an apology when she feels the mattress dipping as he settles down beside her. 

 

Leaning back against the headboard, he keeps his gaze trained on the nearby window as his hand snakes across the sheets to find her own, lacing their fingers together gently. "Just for a little while."

 

The silence that follows is fragile, a living thing, and neither one of them is brave enough to challenge it.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

He's gone when she wakes up, and she stares at the empty space beside for her a long, long time.

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

A week later, she enters the office to find Octavia, practically glowing in a bright orange dress, exchanging excited whispers with Raven. They break apart instantly once they realize she's there, but she waves them on with a small smile.

 

"No, no -- I could use a bit of good news. What's happened?"

 

Octavia exchanges glances with Raven before confessing in a blur of words that Clarke is only barely able to follow. "IranintoLincolnatthemarketandwehaveadatetonight!"

 

"I --what? Lincoln is back?" She glanced between the two women in confusion.

 

Octavia opened her mouth but Raven quickly slapped a hand over it. "Jesus christ, take a breath." She waited for Octavia to follow her orders before continuing, "Now, slow down. That's a good girl."

 

"I --" Octavia paused to take another deep breath and Raven patted her shoulder in approval. "I wasn't going to talk to him, but he chased after me and apologized. He said he hadn't known how to react -- and then his mother got sick, and he had to rush home ... and he lost his phone..."

 

"He lost his phone?" 

 

"Yeah -- he -- you know what, it's a long story, okay? But anyways he told me he loves me too. And he'll do anything to win me back." Octavia finished, cheeks stained pink.

 

It takes Clarke a moment to process everything -- but it's difficult to resist Octavia's enthusiasm and she so gives in,"That's wonderful!"

 

Raven settles down beside her as they watch Octavia flutter about the office, unable to contain her joy. "Looks like our baby's all grown up, huh?"

 

Watching Octavia, Clarke feels something spark within her chest -- a tiny flutter of something she hasn't felt in ages.

 

Hope.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

 

She waits a week to see if the flame will disappear (while secretly praying to every deity in the universe that it doesn't). 

 

Slipping into the bar, she takes in the small crowd scattered about before setting her sights on the bar. Locating her target, she squares her shoulders and approaches the counter.

 

She had a plan, a beautifully well-thought out speech that had been practiced multiple times in front of the mirror (and once with Raven after multiple tequila shots) -- but the words left her brain the instant Bellamy turned around. She caught the flash of something in his eyes before his expression hardened into a neutral mask.

 

"I --" She began, fingers clenching at the strap of her purse. "I love you."

 

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

 

"I love you," she repeats -- only to be thrown off again as he turns away, heading into the back office.

 

Anger rushes through her and gives her the shot of courage she needs to chase after him, determination causing her heels to click sharply against the wood floors. "I love you," she says, voice raising with the force of indignation, "And if that means never getting married then I accept it. Okay? I do! Because life is to too short --"

 

The rest of her tirade vanishes like ashes in the wind when he whirls around to face her and she notices the small black box clutched in his hands.

 

He opens his mouth and she hangs onto his every word like her life depends on it -- and given the way her pulse is pounding in her ears, it very well might.

 

"I bought this the day after the funeral. I was walking home and I saw it in the window and all I could think was 'that ring's fit for a princess' -- and I knew. I just knew that it was meant for  _my_  princess." His head lifts and she feels her knees weaken at the sheer  _emotion_  in his gaze. "I wanted to call you every single day since then but I was so scared that I would fuck it up again, or ruin your happiness --"

 

"-- Are you fucking kidding me? I was miserable."

 

He huffs faintly with amusement at the interruption. "Are you going to let me finish?"

 

Snapping her mouth shut, she nods faintly.

 

"I have loved you from the minute I first saw you -- and if you'll let me, I will love you for every minute we have left." Sinking down before her, he extended the box towards her while lifting the lid. "Will you  _please_ do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

 

Raising a hand towards her face, Clarke can only stare at him as she feels moisture fill her eyes. She is trapped in a maelstrom of emotion -- but a tiny sliver of doubt has her mouth twisting. "Are you -- are you  _sure_?"

 

His nod is the only encouragement she needs to spring forward and capture his mouth, channeling all of her energy and emotion into that one fragile touch.

 

Breaking apart, he rests his forehead against her own while nudging at her nose. "Is that a yes?"

 

Her smile is like the sun when she answers, "Yes."

 


End file.
